


The Last Moscow Sunset

by vesper_house



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Elseworlds, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Study, Communism, Dark, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Red Son AU, Secret Identity, Sex, communism manifesto, if you've read the comic you know you can't expect rainbows and sunshine aight, kind of non-con if you take into consideration that Batman hates Superman in this universe, that's also a valid tag because you gon' learn, yep that's a valid tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper_house/pseuds/vesper_house
Summary: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Batman knows this rule. In order to prepare the plan of Superman's ultimate destruction, he has to come closer than he could ever imagine.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 29
Kudos: 80
Collections: Superbat Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Jol Balrok art and growing up in post-Soviet country. ❤️  
> Check the art here: https://jolbalrok.tumblr.com/post/621938156116246529/last-moscow-sunrise-my-art-entry-for-the

Mornings in Moscow are pastel. The city comes forth from the darkness softly, like a bride lifting her veil on the wedding day. This time, the morning is lavender, and Batman had a busy night. 

\---

_ “Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes. In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a complicated arrangement of society into various orders, a manifold gradation of social rank. In ancient Rome we have patricians, knights, plebeians, slaves; in the Middle Ages, feudal lords, vassals, guild-masters, journeymen, apprentices, serfs; in almost all of these classes, again, subordinate gradations.” _

WHO IS SUPERMAN?, one of the more courageous authors asked in the underground pamphlet. OPPRESSOR OR THE OPPRESSED? 

\---

_ “When the ancient world was in its last throes, the ancient religions were overcome by Christianity. When Christian ideas succumbed in the 18th century to rationalist ideas, feudal society fought its death battle with the then revolutionary bourgeoisie. The ideas of religious liberty and freedom of conscience merely gave expression to the sway of free competition within the domain of knowledge. “Undoubtedly,” it will be said, “religious, moral, philosophical, and juridical ideas have been modified in the course of historical development. But religion, morality, philosophy, political science, and law, constantly survived this change.” “There are, besides, eternal truths, such as Freedom, Justice, etc., that are common to all states of society. But Communism abolishes eternal truths, it abolishes all religion, and all morality, instead of constituting them on a new basis; it therefore acts in contradiction to all past historical experience.” What does this accusation reduce itself to? The history of all past society has consisted in the development of class antagonisms, antagonisms that assumed different forms at different epochs. But whatever form they may have taken, one fact is common to all past ages, viz., the exploitation of one part of society by the other. No wonder, then, that the social consciousness of past ages, despite all the multiplicity and variety it displays, moves within certain common forms, or general ideas, which cannot completely vanish except with the total disappearance of class antagonisms.” _

Old citizens whispered that he is indeed God. Every religion promised a savior. Why not him? Good father Stalin crushed the rumors, but the holy places suddenly started to gain popularity. This could be used to the governments advantage: wouldn’t it mean that the Slavs united under one flag were the chosen nation? A solid fundament to further propel communism as the best way of living. 

However, the words of Marx and Lenin were more important than old superstitions. Religion is the opium for the masses. A construct made by rotten elites if the forgotten days. There’s no use for such travesty in the utopia. A few shootings and arrests solved the problem of the sudden rise in spirituality.

\---

The cold is pleasant. It pushes the body to make better effort. Batman always enjoyed giving it all. Exhausting himself physically to the point of breaking. It was worth it. When he thinks about the plan for the millionth time, he knows it was worth it. 

\---

Everyone has a thing. A vice that they can’t resist. Sometimes small, sometimes big enough to bring misery. Alcohol. Drugs. Lies. Gambling. Theft. Adultery. All the sins written down on the two stone tablets that make human blood run faster. Giving up to them is part of human nature. People are supposed to be imperfect and strive to be better. Yet, in those despicable acts, their real, most natural form shines like a dark lantern. 

But Superman isn’t human. 

The rumors about him being resistant to substances were quickly proven to be true. Superman could drink a canister of vodka and not even flinch. He could smoke an entire tobacco field without a single cough. He has never engaged in games, haven’t even placed a bet in his entire life. And it looked like he was blind to women’s charm.

The resistance has tried multiple times to set up Superman with a spy. 

The first one was a girl who got herself into a car accident in Moscow when Superman was within an earshot. She had the most impressive bosom on this side of the Volga and long hair the color of wheat. When she looked with her doe eyes, whispering  _ my hero, _ presenting her body through ripped clothing as if it was by mistake, every man in the Union would wife her the next morning. Every man, any man, except Superman. He walked her to an emergency room and left her there without sparing a second glance. The girl didn’t cry at her failure; she ended up marrying the administrator of the very hospital Superman put her in. She promptly forgot about her obligations to the resistance the minute they got engaged. 

The people of the resistance didn’t stop trying. Their schemes involved women of all ages and professions. Nadezhda, a wholesome farm girl similar to those Superman had to grow up with during his childhood in Ukraine. Ludmila, a ferocious communist party activist who believed in justice and equality for all under the red flag. Polina, a doctor with a sob story about her parents dying too young from preventable disease. All of them were puppets carefully installed by the resistance and none of them achieved anything. “His little comrade has to be dead,” people joked in the safety of the secret basement under the pub where they gathered to print anti-Superman propaganda. 1111

Then came Zinaida, or simply Zina as the Moscow crowd called her. She was a ballerina whose talent for dancing could only be matched by her love for parties. She was loud, she was swearing and drinking like a soldier, but all of that only enhanced her charm. On the stage, she transformed into a ghost that was put on this Earth to haunt the audience tenderly with her beauty. Officials treated her as a pet; a ball with Zina as a guest was a guarantee of social success. At the time, none of them knew about Zina’s true ideals. 

She came closer than anyone to seducing Superman. On the evening of a gala thrown specially for him, she looked like a dream come true. It was late and everyone was already drunk. For once, Superman didn’t swoosh out of the room to save someone in need. Instead, he looked intently at Zina’s hips when she presented the very provocative (and very illegal) dances from the West on the ballroom’s dance floor. After that night, in her status report, Zina swore on her grandmother’s grave that Superman could get intoxicated, or at least woozy. He looked like it when she sat in front of him, not bothering with chairs but simply plopping on the table. “Tell me, what’s your thing?” She asked. “Pardon?” He answered, visibly confused. “I want to know what’s your thing. What do you _ like, _ Superman?” She winked so he had to understand her intentions. His answer, she promised, wasn’t something she anticipated but it was really what he said: “Handsome men.”

The masks are a blessing. Masks and solitude. No one could ever see the way Batman bit his lip while reading Zina’s report. 

Too bad it was Zina’s final performance. She got caught just a few days after the party along with three other members of the resistance. Their nameless grave is said to be somewhere on the road to Ural. When she disappeared, the resistance finally gave up on the honey trap scheme. If there was a woman Superman was inclined with, it was Diana of Themyscira, and she was beyond reach. 

But Zina left a clue for Batman.

\---

Before he leaves, before the sun has a chance of revealing his presence to the soldiers, Batman once again checks every entrance to the palace. He could draw it on a piece paper from memory, but he needs to be sure. Here’s the one for special forces. This one is for the service. This one is for the guests. Wonder Woman will walk through it. If he takes a risk and gets closer to the edge of the roof, Batman can look through a high window to see a table where she is going to sit. Good. Everything’s in place.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

_ “All previous historical movements were movements of minorities, or in the interest of minorities. The proletarian movement is the self-conscious, independent movement of the immense majority, in the interest of the immense majority. The proletariat, the lowest stratum of our present society, cannot stir, cannot raise itself up, without the whole superincumbent strata of official society being sprung into the air.” _

“If there is only Superman in the entire world, can he really represent the interest of the majority?” An officer at the military casino asked after one too many drinks. “What do you mean, Artyom?” His colleague poured him another shot of vodka. “Isn’t there only one Stalin too?”

\---

_ “From the moment when labour can no longer be converted into capital, money, or rent, into a social power capable of being monopolised, i.e., from the moment when individual property can no longer be transformed into bourgeois property, into capital, from that moment, you say, individuality vanishes. You must, therefore, confess that by “individual” you mean no other person than the bourgeois, than the middle-class owner of property. This person must, indeed, be swept out of the way, and made impossible.” _

It took Batman some time to construct the persona. Impoverished nobleman of Polish descent whose family wealth was rightfully given back to the common folk during the purge. A citizen of no country, living off of the remains of former glory. Generously taken care of by similar individuals who somehow escaped the purge of the rich. Gets away with the degenerate lifestyle thanks to his higher education in architecture that makes him useful to the Union. His biggest flaw, apart from the aristocratic background, is a rumor that he’s a Catholic, but no one ever produced an evidence that he was close to the faith of his ancestors. 

The hardest part was to decide which elements were true. With a gulp of regret, Batman wrote down the story of how his parents got shot right in front of him. Every good forgery has to have some truth to it. It was the final paper in the not very remarkable stack of papers that created his folder. Batman had many personalities before, but this one somehow felt different. As if he managed to catch a fragment of a dream lived by someone else, on a different Earth. 

Smuggling the fake folder into the KGB archives was easier than he anticipated – the agents were getting lazy under Superman’s reign. So when Batman arrived in Moscow undercover as a socialite from Petersburg on contract to build new, modern apartment complex for accomplished citizens, no one even batted an eye. It was like he has always existed in the endless data of Soviet repression.

So he waited in his pristine clothes that chaffed his skin more than the poor shirts he wore while growing up, waited in pretty rooms that reminded him no one’s equal even though the tyrants say otherwise, waited while mingling with the higher circles, mimicking their mannerisms and despising them more and more every day. 

Finally, he got his chance. 

\---

_ “The Communists do not form a separate party opposed to the other working-class parties. They have no interests separate and apart from those of the proletariat as a whole. They do not set up any sectarian principles of their own, by which to shape and mould the proletarian movement.” _

“That parade is for you, you know.” The recording of Stalin saying those words to Superman during the Superman day has been destroyed. Only one copy survived, now safe in Batman’s hideout. 

A fake sense of danger was enough. Batman, now an innocent bystander and a witness to a catastrophe, got saved by the Superman. His charms and the right words could get him far, at least that’s what the aunties at the orphanage said to him before beating him up. 

They were right. He caught the Superman’s eye. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

In the morning fog, everyone looks the same. If Batman got a bit reckless and let himself be seen, not one of Moscow’s citizens who start their day early recognized him in the gloom. 

\---

Getting Superman’s attention during the party wasn’t too hard. He got hooked on the oldest trick in the book: avoidance. This shouldn’t be surprising: Superman is used to everyone bowing to him. A tall, dark and handsome stranger who gave him nothing but a polite smile was bound to get his interest. “I’ve never seen you here before,” Superman said. “I’m new in town.” In this context, it wasn’t really a lie. He is very beautiful when you look at him up close, Batman thought. Beautiful human. Strong and yet delicate in features. Nothing betrays his alien origin. He even blushes slightly, meaning there is red blood in his veins. The skin on his face is thin enough to show some color. How is it possible that he’s bulletproof? His eyes are like cornflowers that used to grow near Batman’s parents field. 

He hates him the way darkness hates light. But he’s beautiful, and that makes the mission easier. 

They make out in the car parked far away from anyone’s eyes. Batman learns all the little details he needed to know. Superman’s body has the shape of a human in every aspect. However, his skin is hotter than normal. His body temperature is probably the sole reason why the car’s windshields got foggy. He can’t be a robot. Not with skin this soft and harsh in the right places, with such a pliable tongue in a wet mouth. If the hardness in his pants is any indication, his reactions are typical for a man his age in this situation. Human. Human after all.

“What happened?” He asks upon seeing Batman’s scar on an exposed shoulder. Memories flashing almost ruin the moment. Knock on the door. Mom and dad panicking. Papers flying. Door getting knocked down. Men in uniforms. Shots… Roslov…

“Don’t talk.” Batman collects himself. Rage can’t get the best of him. Not now. It’s difficult when the man he is kissing has the same face as the figure on the leaflets his parents were printing, stained by their blood. But he can do this. He got better at controlling his mind as years passed. He has to focus. This all part of the plan. Get to know your enemy. Find his weaknesses. Even Superman has to have them. 

Surprisingly, even his semen isn’t any different. Batman wipes it carefully to save as much DNA as possible. He tucks the embroidered handkerchief and gets ready to leave the car. “Wait… You didn’t…” 

“Do you want to return the favor?” The alien turns crimson red. He nods. Well then. It feels scary to have the most powerful fist in the world wrapped around such a fragile part of the body. Batman admits to himself it turns him on. Not even a squadron of KGB agents could get that confession out of him. But Superman is so gentle in his ministrations. Must be weird to move around in the world made of glass. He doesn’t say anything, just kisses passionately with his lovely eyes half-closed. 

It feels  _ so _ good. 

\---

_ “The working men have no country. We cannot take from them what they have not got. Since the proletariat must first of all acquire political supremacy, must rise to be the leading class of the nation, must constitute itself the nation, it is so far, itself national, though not in the bourgeois sense of the word.” _

“Why he saved the Americans?” A young recruit of the resistance wondered during secret training. “I don’t know.” Her friend replied. “Maybe he just wants to do good?”

“It’s all propaganda, sweetheart.” Their trainer said sharply. “He wants to destroy them from the inside. Without a war. It’s clever, really. Very clever.” 

\--- 

Batman thinks there isn’t anything that could make him angry on a peaceful morning like this. Not when everything is going according to the plan. But then he sees a man with an implant in his head. That makes him grit his teeth. That’s why he can’t quit.

\---

The tissue samples he collected weren’t enough. Batman’s imperfect lab equipment made from scraps found in the dumpsters or stolen from the military bases destroyed them quickly. The entire mission went to waste. 

He got mad, so mad that he had to destroy something. Hurt someone. Preferably someone who deserves it. But in this new world there were no criminals. The crime rates hit zero – these were the facts. The streets changed since the time he was in orphanage. Humanity has preserved its innocence by giving away its free will. Everything for the greater good. 

He needs to see him again. To get samples for research. Yes. 


	4. Chapter 4

_ “But you Communists would introduce community of women, screams the bourgeoisie in chorus. The bourgeois sees his wife a mere instrument of production. He hears that the instruments of production are to be exploited in common, and, naturally, can come to no other conclusion that the lot of being common to all will likewise fall to the women. He has not even a suspicion that the real point aimed at is to do away with the status of women as mere instruments of production. For the rest, nothing is more ridiculous than the virtuous indignation of our bourgeois at the community of women which, they pretend, is to be openly and officially established by the Communists. The Communists have no need to introduce community of women; it has existed almost from time immemorial. Our bourgeois, not content with having wives and daughters of their proletarians at their disposal, not to speak of common prostitutes, take the greatest pleasure in seducing each other’s wives. Bourgeois marriage is, in reality, a system of wives in common and thus, at the most, what the Communists might possibly be reproached with is that they desire to introduce, in substitution for a hypocritically concealed, an openly legalised community of women.” _

Diana has been sending hint after hint after hint. She knew that Superman, at least his human side, came from a modest background. A small village in the middle of Ukraine. She’s getting sure that he must’ve been raised on a farm with no women in sight for years. She hasn’t met anyone this clueless in the world of mortals yet. “Please tell me,” she finally asks, “do you know anything about your home planet?”

“I’m afraid not.” He smiles with just a hint of sadness in his face. “The only thing I know is that it was doomed.”

“Do you think that women were a part of your kind?” 

“Yes, of course.” Superman looks slightly abashed. “Why wouldn’t there be women on other planets?”

“I’m just wondering. Don’t take it so personally, old friend. Think about. If Earth has Themyscira, perhaps your planet was a place that only male individuals inhabited?” Superman smiled. “We can’t say that’s not true. We really can’t be sure. But that’s a horrible vision.” 

“Yes,” Diana took a sip of her wine. “Horrible.”

\---

Next time they meet, it’s in Warsaw. 

Batman could think of million ways to convince Superman to come over to the strange city. Cry for help. Set up a heist. Put on a front with some poor, unsuspecting idiots. Lightning up the Palace of Culture with a huge bat symbol. 

However, the role he is playing is a subtle one, so he chose the subtle way: a telegram. 

Part of him didn’t believe it would be that easy. He was used to months of planning. Intricate, twisted spiderwebs of lies and secrets. Doing everything in his might to avoid the state and the omniscient eyes of the Superman. Is some ink and paper really enough to lure him into a trap?

Why yes, it is. Just an innocent invitation:  _ I’d like to have a chat. Come to Warsaw if you have the time. B. _

And just like that, Superman lands on his balcony. Softly, his feet gently touching the tiles, like a cat roaming on a roof. Batman, or rather the persona he has adopted, looks ravishing. Every inch the aristocrat who has fallen from grace as a sacrifice for a better world. He thinks briefly about a different life where these commodities would be a part of the ordinary. Where money for nice things wouldn’t be an issue. Those thoughts leave his mind quickly. Silly fantasies of an orphaned boy. 

Nonetheless, he presents himself like a treat. Superman notices, and he noticed Superman’s sudden shyness. “Comrade,” Batman says, his throat already hurting from the fake, sing-song voice he has to use. He’s going to be mute for a week after this evening purely from disgust he feels towards himself right now. “Thank you for joining me.”

“Comrade. I wouldn’t miss a chance to meet with such a great citizen.” He’s impressive, Batman thinks. Always talks in this perfect, round-about propaganda. Noble, but lukewarm. Appreciative, but empty. Like a statue that’s beautiful on the outside but hollow on the inside. And by gods, he does look like a statue. Manly and strong in a way that the Renaissance artists could only dream of. The Soviet craftsmen, stifled in their art, couldn’t hold a candle to his beauty. On the posters, Superman always looks flat and lifeless. Just like he did on those stupid pieces of paper Batman’s parents lost their lives over. 

He clenches his teeth. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, comrade.” He sweet-talks as much as he can. It doesn’t come to him naturally, but he has even worse things coming. He needs to stay focus and tone down those useless feelings. He has a job to do. “Whiskey?”

“That’s a forbidden drink, comrade.” Batman laughs quietly. “It is. I apologize, Superman. I am still in awe of your moral compass.”

“I just try to see the right and wrong.” Superman’s voice falters in an odd way. Could it be?... “Are you nervous, comrade?”

“Why would I be nervous?” Superman huffs and blushes like a girl. Bingo. Gods, this is almost too easy. Batman was hoping for a challenge. “Vodka?” He offers, pointing at a bar. Superman nods his head shyly. “Tell me, does it affect you?”

“Not really but please, keep it to yourself.” 

“Of course.” Batman passes him the glass with alcohol in it. “I can guarantee you that I am a very private person.” 

“You want to say that you can keep a secret?”

“Precisely, comrade.”

They didn’t even drink the vodka. On a couch, sloppily, they’ve kissed like people with young hearts and smooth faces. Batman didn’t even realize when he got brought to the bed. His pulse was racing but his sweat was cold as ice. The attention was almost unbearable. Superman, undressing him. Putting him on the bed sweetly. Kissing every inch of his skin like he was something worth caring for. If he closed his eyes, it felt good. Nearly normal. But something ugly deep inside him couldn’t let him relax. 

He went through the motions and sounds almost automatically. Superman was so gentle, so careful with his hands and the power they held. In the dark, he didn’t look any different form people Batman met in the streets. Just a beautiful, strong farmer. Not a threat to be feared.

“Fuck me,” he whispered and presented himself, and he couldn’t lie to himself, he wanted it. He craved every inch of that power. To touch the untouchable. To be possessed and taken. Belong to someone for once, even if it’s just for one night. Even if it’s the enemy. 

He didn’t lose himself entirely. He observed the godly face above him and every little detail. The hair. The eyelashes. Tiny pieces that could be observed under a microscope. He got so caught up he screamed when Superman entered him. This could be the most valuable sample, so he made it good for him. He reenacted every dirty picture he ever saw only to make sure he’s going to get what he wanted.

He made it. Superman filled him up nicely, with a final kiss on the lips. Mission accomplished. 


	5. Chapter 5

_ The discovery of America, the rounding of the Cape, opened up fresh ground for the rising bourgeoisie. The East-Indian and Chinese markets, the colonisation of America, trade with the colonies, the increase in the means of exchange and in commodities generally, gave to commerce, to navigation, to industry, an impulse never before known, and thereby, to the revolutionary element in the tottering feudal society, a rapid development. The feudal system of industry, in which industrial production was monopolised by closed guilds, now no longer sufficed for the growing wants of the new markets. The manufacturing system took its place. The guild-masters were pushed on one side by the manufacturing middle class; division of labour between the different corporate guilds vanished in the face of division of labour in each single workshop. Meantime the markets kept ever growing, the demand ever rising. Even manufacturer no longer sufficed. Thereupon, steam and machinery revolutionised industrial production. The place of manufacture was taken by the giant, Modern Industry; the place of the industrial middle class by industrial millionaires, the leaders of the whole industrial armies, the modern bourgeois. Modern industry has established the world market, for which the discovery of America paved the way. This market has given an immense development to commerce, to navigation, to communication by land. This development has, in its turn, reacted on the extension of industry; and in proportion as industry, commerce, navigation, railways extended, in the same proportion the bourgeoisie developed, increased its capital, and pushed into the background every class handed down from the Middle Ages.  _

“You must be really happy now,” Lois almost spits into Luthor’s face. “Finally, you have a race you cannot win! Nothing better could happen to you, is that right?!”

“Can’t win?!” Luthor’s voice has almost a metallic tone when he gets angry. “Can’t win?!” He pushes the stuff off of his desk. The assistants nearby are mortified. “How dare you say I won’t win! How can you possibly think that! There’s no greater power than me!  _ Me, _ Lois!”

For a fraction of a second, she’s sure he’s going to kill her. A loud thud sounds oddly distant. Lois looks to the side. A young male in a lab coat lies on the ground with an empty expression on his face. His colleagues hurry to pick up the body. Lex is still screaming. “I will not let the free world to be suffocated by a tyrant!”

\---

Roslov’s proposition arrived at the perfect time. At first, Batman was disgusted with the idea of working with him. And to use an American weapon on top of that! But he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. There really was no way of truly hurting Superman that he knew of. The more he worked on it, the more he realized he’s walking in circles. It frustrated him to no end. He had to face the reality: he failed. All of his careful planning led him nowhere. If anyone knew what he has done… How far he was willing to go… Would they admire him or turn away with disgust? 

Accepting the help from outside hurt his pride. However, it carried a promise of great success. He just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to test whatever the dirty Westerners came up with. 

Above all, he couldn’t say no to making promises to Roslov. Promises of long, painful death once it’s all over. 

That night, Batman slept like a baby. 

\---

_ “The essential conditions for the existence and for the sway of the bourgeois class is the formation and augmentation of capital; the condition for capital is wage-labour. Wage-labour rests exclusively on competition between the labourers. The advance of industry, whose involuntary promoter is the bourgeoisie, replaces the isolation of the labourers, due to competition, by the revolutionary combination, due to association. The development of Modern Industry, therefore, cuts from under its feet the very foundation on which the bourgeoisie produces and appropriates products. What the bourgeoisie therefore produces, above all, are its own grave-diggers. Its fall and the victory of the proletariat are equally inevitable.” _

_ “The distinguishing feature of Communism is not the abolition of property generally, but the abolition of bourgeois property. But modern bourgeois private property is the final and most complete expression of the system of producing and appropriating products, that is based on class antagonisms, on the exploitation of the many by the few. In this sense, the theory of the Communists may be summed up in the single sentence: Abolition of private property. We Communists have been reproached with the desire of abolishing the right of personally acquiring property as the fruit of a man’s own labour, which property is alleged to be the groundwork of all personal freedom, activity and independence. Hard-won, self-acquired, self-earned property! Do you mean the property of petty artisan and of the small peasant, a form of property that preceded the bourgeois form? There is no need to abolish that; the development of industry has to a great extent already destroyed it, and is still destroying it daily. Or do you mean the modern bourgeois private property? But does wage-labour create any property for the labourer? Not a bit. It creates capital, i.e., that kind of property which exploits wage-labour, and which cannot increase except upon condition of begetting a new supply of wage-labour for fresh exploitation. Property, in its present form, is based on the antagonism of capital and wage labour. Let us examine both sides of this antagonism. To be a capitalist, is to have not only a purely personal, but a social status in production. Capital is a collective product, and only by the united action of many members, nay, in the last resort, only by the united action of all members of society, can it be set in motion. Capital is therefore not only personal; it is a social power. When, therefore, capital is converted into common property, into the property of all members of society, personal property is not thereby transformed into social property. It is only the social character of the property that is changed. It loses its class character.”  _

“Are we equal, Superman?” 

It’s a question that has to strike a nerve. “Naturally.” The response is quick and nervous. “Do you really believe that when you touch the clouds?” Batman ponders while lying in expensive sheets. “What’s the matter with you?” Superman looks as intimidating naked as he is in the uniform, looking at people like they’re nothing more but roaches. “Nothing.” Batman butts the cigarette in a crystal ash tray and starts to get dressed. 

He kind of expects Superman to stop him. That doesn’t happen. Good. He has all the samples he needed. Time to test the green mineral. 


	6. Chapter 6

Mornings used to fright him more than nights. Morning meant another day of torture. At night, everything seemed clear. His purpose was created during one of the sleepless nights at the orphanage. He sleeps so little. Maybe that’s why he looks a bit older than he really is. 

His stomach hurts. Time for another round of morphine. Just a few more hours. The taste of revenge makes the anticipation sweet like honey.

\---

_ “It has been objected that upon the abolition of private property, all work will cease, and universal laziness will overtake us. According to this, bourgeois society ought long ago to have gone to the dogs through sheer idleness; for those of its members who work, acquire nothing, and those who acquire anything do not work. The whole of this objection is but another expression of the tautology: that there can no longer be any wage-labour when there is no longer any capital. All objections urged against the Communistic mode of producing and appropriating material products, have, in the same way, been urged against the Communistic mode of producing and appropriating intellectual products. Just as, to the bourgeois, the disappearance of class property is the disappearance of production itself, so the disappearance of class culture is to him identical with the disappearance of all culture. That culture, the loss of which he laments, is, for the enormous majority, a mere training to act as a machine. But don’t wrangle with us so long as you apply, to our intended abolition of bourgeois property, the standard of your bourgeois notions of freedom, culture, law, etc. Your very ideas are but the outgrowth of the conditions of your bourgeois production and bourgeois property, just as your jurisprudence is but the will of your class made into a law for all, a will whose essential character and direction are determined by the economical conditions of existence of your class. The selfish misconception that induces you to transform into eternal laws of nature and of reason, the social forms springing from your present mode of production and form of property – historical relations that rise and disappear in the progress of production – this misconception you share with every ruling class that has preceded you. What you see clearly in the case of ancient property, what you admit in the case of feudal property, you are of course forbidden to admit in the case of your own bourgeois form of property.” _

“Your passport is ready,” Luthor says over the phone. “You’re going to be an American citizen in no time.” Batman stays silent. “That’s not something I have agreed to.”

“Agreed or not, it won’t be safe for you to stay behind the curtain. Everything’s prepared. You just have to hop on a plane and start a new life as a full-bodied free man.”

“I don’t want it.”

Silence. 

“I don’t think you realize the importance of what you have gotten yourself into.” Luthor drops the niceties. “You can’t come into bed with me and expect to leave in the morning like a whore.”

“There’s no greater whoring in the world than being an American citizen. Everyone fucks you from behind without even the smallest kiss.”

“You dare say that? You?! A fucking peasant from a third-world dictatorship?! Listen here…”

“I am done listening. I’d rather be dead than American.” Just like Superman, he thinks briefly. He hangs up and promptly leaves the phone booth behind. 

\---

_ “Abolition of the family! Even the most radical flare up at this infamous proposal of the Communists. On what foundation is the present family, the bourgeois family, based? On capital, on private gain. In its completely developed form, this family exists only among the bourgeoisie. But this state of things finds its complement in the practical absence of the family among the proletarians, and in public prostitution. The bourgeois family will vanish as a matter of course when its complement vanishes, and both will vanish with the vanishing of capital. Do you charge us with wanting to stop the exploitation of children by their parents? To this crime we plead guilty. But, you say, we destroy the most hallowed of relations, when we replace home education by social. And your education! Is not that also social, and determined by the social conditions under which you educate, by the intervention direct or indirect, of society, by means of schools, etc.? The Communists have not invented the intervention of society in education; they do but seek to alter the character of that intervention, and to rescue education from the influence of the ruling class. The bourgeois clap-trap about the family and education, about the hallowed co-relation of parents and child, becomes all the more disgusting, the more, by the action of Modern Industry, all the family ties among the proletarians are torn asunder, and their children transformed into simple articles of commerce and instruments of labour.” _

Batman often thinks of his parents. All the time if he’s honest with himself. Why did they start working in the resistance? What was their drive? Was it selfish? Was it for the greater good? Did they believe they would give him a better world than the one they grew up with? So many questions he will never get to ask because of some stupid flyers. Sometimes he hates them for being so reckless. They could be happy. Live together in their village, not minding anyone. He could go to school and come back home to a warm meal and motherly embrace. He didn’t because his parents believed in something more than family. Now he does too. Does he? 

“Hang on tight, comrade,” the doctor says and puts scalpels next to the very poor hospital bed Batman is lying on. “This is going to hurt.”

“I am counting on it,” he says and looks at the explosives that will light up the sky so brightly that maybe his parents in heaven will be able to see them. 

\---

_ “Question 10: In what way does the proletarian differ from the slave? Answer: The slave is sold once and for all, the proletarian has to sell himself by the day and by the hour. The slave is the property of one master and for that very reason has a guaranteed subsistence, however wretched it may be. The proletarian is, so to speak, the slave of the entire bourgeois class, not of one master, and therefore has no guaranteed subsistence, since nobody buys his labour if he does not need it. The slave is accounted a thing and not a member of civil society. The proletarian is recognised as a person, as a member of civil society. The slave may, therefore, have a better subsistence than the proletarian but the latter stands at a higher stage of development. The slave frees himself by becoming a proletarian, abolishing from the totality of property relationships only the relationship of slavery. The proletarian can free himself only by abolishing property in general.”  _

_ WORKING MEN OF ALL COUNTRIES, UNITE! _

The banner above the main entrance looks impressive, almost as nice as the guest arriving at the palace. Beautiful figures in wonderful clothing. Batman watches them fondly. It’s probably easier to be a puppet when you’re surrounded by nice things. They will enjoy the fireworks tonight. 

He realizes he hasn’t eaten anything in over 48 hours. Yet, he doesn’t feel weak. Quite the opposite; he can’t remember the last time he was so full of life. All of these years led him to this moment. Finally. The trap has been set. Now he needs to hurry. Time to get the plane ready. Then all he has to do is wait for Wonder Woman. 

And then, the unspeakable will happen. 


End file.
